Finding the Right Words
by Jellicle Girl
Summary: In the midst of the trio's quest to uncover the remaining Horcruxes, Ron struggles to tell Hermione how he feels. RH


Author's Note: None of it's mine, sadly. Oh, and this is set in some indeterminate period during the trio's search for the horcruxes. Reviews are DEEPLY appreciated.

Ron slung himself onto his damp, slightly smelly, mattress, gazing morosely at a long, jagged crack in the wall. "This place is rubbish," he muttered to no one in particular.

Harry, whose quill was busily scratching away at a letter to Lupin, and Hermione, who was absorbed in reading some dull textbook or another, ignored him. "What're you reading, Hermione?" he asked, not really caring but feeling sick of the grim silence that pervaded the hut.

"_Advanced Arithmancy_," she replied, not looking up.

Ron rolled his eyes. He couldn't believe that she was still industriously reading books when they weren't even enrolled at Hogwarts anymore. Of course, that only served to confirm his conviction that she was completely starkers. "You're completely starkers."

Hermione's eyes remained fixed on her book as she said evenly, "It wouldn't hurt you to keep up with your studies, too, Ron. Our education isn't over."

"Like hell it's not," Ron muttered rebelliously. Hermione's mouth tightened as she turned a page with a little more force than was necessary. A few moments passed in which Ron studied his dirty fingernails and counted the gaps in the high wooden ceiling.

"Whether you intend to or not, I'm going to take my N.E.W.T.s," Hermione continued suddenly. Ron cursed silently when he lost track of his gaps. _Was it 72? Or, wait - no - 65? Oh, bugger it._

With a resigned sigh, Ron turned his attention back to an obviously hacked off Hermione. "Well, I for one admire your tenacity."

Hermione glanced up, clearly surprised, and maybe even a little amused. "Good word choice." Though her mouth was still a stern line, Ron thought her eyes were smiling.

"It was, wasn't it?" he asked, pluming himself a little. "I heard you use it once, last year. Still not quite sure what it means."

She laughed at that, and suddenly the hut seemed a little less gray than it had a few seconds ago. "Ron -" she began, then trailed off, glancing back down at her book as her smile faded.

"What?"

"It's just - nothing. Forget it."

Ron sighed. She was always doing that. Beginning a sentence and then reconsidering in the middle. It was more than a little annoying.

"Hermione."

"Drop it," she snapped.

Ron suppressed the urge to growl his annoyance. "You're a bloody enigma, you know that?"

"Merlin, Ron, did someone replace your brain with a thesaurus?" Hermione demanded, an edge in her voice.

"A thessa-_what_?" he asked suspiciously. He hated it when she used words he didn't know. He was pretty sure this one meant something particularly nasty - she was always insulting his intelligence.

"A thesaurus, Ron," she said. "It's a more of a Muggle thing, I suppose. It gives alternatives for small words. Like…instead of saying, 'small words' a thesaurus might recommend I try 'miniscule terms.' Or something."

Ron gaped at her. "You're mad."

Hermione colored angrily. "You're so dense sometimes!" she cried.

"Well, you're tetchy _all _the time!"

Hermione opened her mouth to retort but -

"Guys! Could you shut up for two _seconds_?" Harry's quill was still poised over his parchment, and he wore a distinctly annoyed expression. "I'm in the middle of something."

Hermione's expression switched abruptly from outrage to cool detachment. "Sorry, Harry," she responded, directing her gaze back to her book.

"Yeah, sorry," Ron added, wishing he had a book. Well - not a book, per se…Maybe a really good comic. He suddenly wished he had the latest issue of _Martin the Mad Muggle_.

_Old Martin_, he thought fondly. The hapless Muggle was constantly finding himself in the funniest predicaments. Martin had been Obliviated so many times throughout the course of the series that Ron wondered absently why his brain hadn't turn to mush. Wait - perhaps that's why he was _mad_.

Things really made a lot more sense when you were older.

_Some things, anyway_, Ron hastily amended the thought. _Girls - now, they're a different story._

He flopped over onto his back and gazed up at the ceiling again. It wasn't quite yet four o' clock, but the sun was already hanging low in the sky. Her mellow autumnal rays slipped in through the numberless gaps, warming his face. He glanced sidewise at Hermione. A particularly vibrant beam streamed over her hair, drawing out its many highlights. Ron had always been privately fascinated by her hair. At times it looked just plain brown, but now it seemed like a living thing, writhing with tints of gold, sepia, and auburn. Hermione caught him looking at her and went red. Ron went red, too, and forcibly glanced up at the ceiling again.

Ron sighed. He wanted to say something to bridge the gap between himself and Hermione, but he didn't know how to form his muddled thoughts into words. As much as he hated to admit it, he didn't have Hermione's vocabulary and, even worse, he still didn't know what his feelings for his best friend _meant_. For that, he'd need more than a thessa-whatever. He'd need courage. And the sort of sensitivity he wasn't sure he possessed.

Ron's head hurt just thinking about it. _Why won't she talk to me? _he wondered, frustrated with the vicious circle his thoughts were rapidly forming. _She's so _good_ at this kind of thing. _How many times had he listened, captivated, as she'd unraveled Ginny's relationship quandaries with a few choice words of advice? Now was the time for her to exercise her unusual powers of _getting stuff_ to help _him_, and in turn, to help herself.

_That's selfish_, chimed a little voice in the back of Ron's head. He had a nagging inkling that it was his conscience talking; at least, he hoped it was his conscience as opposed to the mocking voice of Insanity. _You want her to make it easy for you. To make the first move. To ingnite that spark that will result in your happy absolution._

Ron lifted his eyebrow. His conscience sounded a lot like it had swallowed a dictionary. Perhaps he really was going mad.

_Talk to her, _goaded his conscience. _Talk to her, talk to her, talk to her, talk to her, talk to her, talk to her, talk to her -_

"For Merlin's sake!" he exploded. Harry and Hermione both looked up in surprise. "Hermione, I need to talk to you."

His conscience fell abruptly silent. Hermione's face was scrawled over with lines of confusion. "Er, okay," she said, reluctantly laying her book aside.

"Might we - do you think -" he sighed, searching for the words he wanted. "Outside." He jerked his thumb toward the door, disliking the terseness in his own voice.

Hermione stood up obligingly, tossing Harry a look as if to say, "What do you suppose this is about?"

Harry merely shrugged, but something in his emerald-green eyes suggested amusement.

Ron led Hermione outside. The landscape was rather barren. The hard-packed dirt beneath their feet was decorated with smatterings of dry, yellow grass, and the one huge sycamore was bereft of foliage of any kind. "This place is ugly, isn't it?" he asked to fill the silence between them.

"The tree is lovely," Hermione said in a slightly defensive tone, as if she had planted and reared the tree herself. Her voice softened a little. "Look at the seat it forms." She pointed, directing his eyes to the queer union of branches that arched and dipped to form a natural bench. "Shall we sit?"

"Right," said Ron. "Right." She looked at him for a long moment, and the furrows in her white forehead felt like accusations. _You're a coward, Ron, _they accused.

Ron sighed and walked over to the seat, indicating that she should follow. She sank into the seat and he followed suit, collapsing next to her. "Right," he said again.

Hermione didn't say anything, but merely stared at her hands.

"Er." _Good on you, mate, _he thought sarcastically, _Way to impress her with your masterful command of the English language._

Hermione glanced up, her dark eyes meeting his own pale ones with a strange intensity. Ron liked her eyes. They were large and velvety-looking, with an impossibly thick frame of soft, dark lashes. At the moment they were filled with honest puzzlement. "What did you want to say?" she asked, her voice gently probing.

Ron choked on the words as they tumbled out of his mouth, unbidden. "I-I love you."

The patches of color on Hermione's cheeks faded and her petal-like lips fell open with shock. "What?" she asked.

"I love you," he repeated, his voice stronger. He couldn't believe it. He hadn't planned on saying those three explosive little words, but now that he'd said them he knew that nothing in the world could ever feel more right. "I'm in love with you."

"Ron -" she began, but he cut her off, grinning now.

"I've loved you for forever," he said, his voice rising with excitement. His heart was pounding against his ribcage, but he'd never felt more at peace - more sure that he was doing the right thing. "I'll always love you."

"Why - what -" She couldn't seem to find any words to express her current frame of mind, but Ron didn't care. He had enough to say for the both of them.

"I love the way you know me better than anybody else. It bugs the hell out of me, yeah, but it's all right, because I know you better than anybody else, too. I love the way your hair - your hair catches the light - and the way your mouth tightens up when you're mad - the way your whole face lights up when you're happy. I love the way you know _everything_. I love the way you worry yourself sick about the bloody house-elves - the way you boss me around - the way you smell. Merlin, Hermione, I love everything about you."

"The way I smell?" Hermione demanded.

Ron's smile faltered a little bit. Her face was full of playful anger. _She's joking, _he quickly realized, relief crashing over him in waves. "Yeah," he told her eagerly. "Like honeysuckles. You smell…lovely. You _are _lovely."

Hermione colored like a rose. "Ron -" she began for the third time, but he cut her off, placing one palm against the soft curve of her cheek, drawing her rosy face towards his. Before she could begin to tell him exactly how much _she _loved _him_, he pressed his lips against her trembling ones and suddenly words were no longer necessary at all.


End file.
